


The Secret Village

by LadyoftheLillies



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Cottagecore, F/F, F/M, Jon is a fey witch, M/M, at first of course, everyone is part of the fair folk, s1 Jonmartin vibes, secret village, somewhat slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:41:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheLillies/pseuds/LadyoftheLillies
Summary: It was hard when the Village Witch hated you, but Martin persisting nevertheless.After escaping King Peter and his court of loneliness, Martin stumbles into a village of overgrown evergreen and cobblestone. There he meets a collection of Fey with some secrets of their own. Together, they make a court for themselves, despite their pasts lurking just over the rolling hills.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/ Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker/Sasha James
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter One

It was hard when the village witch hated you.

Martin tried, he really did, to be likable. And so far, that had been working out for him. The other residents liked him well enough, or at least he hoped so.  
But Martin's inability to properly communicate could not be entirely his fault, after all he'd been by himself for a long time before coming to the Village.

Well not entirely by himself, the King of Nothing had watched over him as unnervingly as the sun. 

The King of Nothing, or Peter as Martin intimately knew him as, ruled over many of the Fey. However, his court was filled with a heavy mist, a mist that tasted like snow and looked like hazy shards of crystallized rain. Peter's kingdom was made up of blues and grays and the distinct feeling of being lonesome. That feeling had yet to leave Martin, because being alone meant being by one's self, while lonesome meant feeling alone despite being surrounded by people.

The King of Nothing liked being the only person his people had, never letting them meet each other or figure out they were not truly alone. For a while, Martin had assumed he'd came across an abandoned court, and felt an immediate kinship with Peter when he thought the King had been alone too.

But no, Martin realized the King of Nothing has many pieces on his chess board, just spaced out incredibly wide. 

It had taken a change of world view to jump off the wooden ship Peter had "given" him and swim through cold waters to shore. Martin walked on numb legs for miles, letting the tangled landscape of the land of Faerie make a path for him.

That was how Martin found this village hidden in the evergreens. It was quaint, filled with cobblestone paths overgrown with grass and wooden buildings with stained glass windows. Everyone carried basket filled with berries or flowers or books. Although there were not many people, Martin felt better at once. 

He'd stumbled through the streets one afternoon, causing the townspeople to send him weary looks. Once Martin got his bearings he realized he needed to sleep, and to get food so he didn't starve to death in said sleep. When was the last time he'd eaten? On the ship hunger just decayed, along with every other feeling Martin had. Now, everything Martin has lost came flooding back, his senses coming back to life.

Martin walked into a shop with a swinging wooden sign that read, "Daisy's Weaponry".

At the front of the store was a Fey woman with shorn golden hair. Her pale pointed ears matched her jagged bangs. She sat on the counter, knee propped up, inspecting a dagger. She didn't move, but her eyes snapped to Martin.

"Oh, Hello," Martin stammered, taking in the vast array of axes, bows, arrows, swords, and other killing objects on the walls, and wondered why the fuck he had chosen to walk in here. "I was, um, I was wondering where I could get food? And a room?"

Daisy continued to stare at Martin. Martin's eyes continued to bounce nervously off the walls. Staring at this woman was far more intimidating than looking at the weapons themselves. 

Finally she lowered the blade, but did not relax her grip. "Where are you coming in from?" She asked.

"Um, well, I really don't actually know?" Martin laughed awkwardly. She didn't laugh with him, so he persisted, "I was aboard a ship, but I um, left and wandered here mapless. So, um, could you tell me where I could get food-"

"What ship?" Daisy snapped.

Martin opened his mouth when another Fey woman walked in. Her skin was darker, and the points of her ears poked underneath her head scarf. "Stop interrogating him." The woman said. 

"Basira-" Daisy started.

"We have a market down the street, but no cafes." The woman- Basira- said. She tilted her head at Martin and asked, "You can cook, can't you?"

"I, yes, yes I can." Martin said, his eyes moving between the two women. "Um, how did you-"

"You couldn't have given me any warning?" Daisy interupted, whirling around to Basira. Basira shrugged, not taking her eyes off of Martin.

"He is not a threat." Basira said, "In fact, I think he will fit right in."

"I-I'm sorry but what is-" Martin tried, but Daisy cut him off, sighing, "She is a seer, looks at the stars and sees the future. And apparently she saw you coming to town, and didn't tell anyone."

She turned to Basira again. "You at least told Jon we had a newcomer, right?"

Martin asked awkwardly, "Who is-"

Suddenly, the door to the shop swung wide open, revealing a slender Fey man with long black hair lined with silver strands. His hazel eyes, moss green and tree bark brown, looked wildly around the room before they landed on Martin.

The man muttered something under his breath and the weapons flew off the walls, stopping inches from Martin's person. Martin stiffened in shock, suddenly becoming very aware of his own body.

"Who are you?" The man asked, his voice dark and lined with magic, "And why are you here?"

"Jon, stop it." Basira said with no real hurry. "I saw him coming."

The man- Jon- whirled on Basira, just as Daisy had, in outrage. Only this time, green sparks flew from his hands. "You saw him coming? And what, decided not to tell me we were going to have an intruder?"

"He's not an intruder, apparently." Daisy said, seemingly bored and leaned against the counter. "Basira said he's going to fit right in here with us."

"Him?" Jon said, looking at Martin with incredulity before looking again at Daisy. As Martin stood as still as an oak tree, he could not help but feel a rush of shame. Martin hasn't had a mirror in a long time and his clothes were wet with salt water and sweat. He knew he did not look any form of attractive. (Not that he cared what the Witch, the utterly handsome and powerful Witch thought.)

"Yes, Jon, him." Basira said, now starting to grow annoyed. "Free him for Merlin's sake." 

Jon did not let up. "Surely there must be a mistake-"

Daisy leaned forward instantly. "Are you doubting Basira?"

"Of course not, I'm just saying-"

"I know what you're saying Jon, but listen to me. He is supposed to be a part of our village." A mischievous smile lit Basira's face. "In fact, he is going to open up our first cafe."

And that is how Martin became the proud owner of an abandoned wooden two story cottage. Basira had shown him around the first floor, explaining where they were going to bring in the kitchen supplies such as a stove, plates, pots, and pans, and where he would set tables and chairs. As a small mercy, she said he could do whatever he wanted with the second story, as that would be his home.

Martin trudged up the wooden stairs, clothes dry with mildew and scratchy with sand, and peered at his new place. His place. Martin had never had a place that was truly his. As Martin took in the hallway, the bedroom, the kitchenette, and the quaint living room, he could not believe it was his. The gold key dug into his palm, reminding him that in fact he had escaped Peter.

"I need to sit down." Martin decided, and fell asleep against his new front door.

Martin did his best to fix his appearance. For his business of course, not because of the reaction he'd gotten from a certain witch. A witch, who by the way, had taken an extra five minutes to lay off the weapons. Jon had watched Martin as though Martin had personally offended him, and threatened him under his breath in an archaic language until Basira had led Martin away.

But you know what they say about first impressions, Martin tried to think jovially as he looked at himself in the mirror. His hair had grayed during his time on the ship. Martin ran his hand through it, swallowing. The freckles on his face had faded as well, no longer bright brown but dull. 

Martin hadn't been the looker before, and he was certainly not now.

Sliding on a lacy long sleeved shirt, Martin tried to think of other things. What did Basira want him to make? He tied the front strings in thought. He could make cakes, he supposed, or roast lamb.

Martin's thoughts were thrown askew when he heard a crash from downstairs. For a brief, panicked moment Martin thought it was Peter, but rationally he knew Peter preferred quiet entrances, appearing out of his ethereal mist.

It had to be something or someone else. Martin buttoned up his velvet breeches before sliding a dagger out of his discarded coat's pocket (a jacket he would most asurdly have to be rid of, now that it stank of sea weed and salt water).

Martin tip toed down the stairs, cursing every wooden creak. At the bottom of the stairs Martin peered into the room, where early morning peered in from the shop windows. Behind a rickety counter was a mop of black hair, attached the head of a swearing fey man.

"For Merlin's sake-" The man ranted before his eyes fell onto Martin. A charming smile took over his features, and Martin was instantly weary. He knew the kind of tricks good looking faeries did. They were the kind of fair folk that made fun of Martin and jabbed at him. Martin gripped the dagger.

"Oh come on mate there's no need for that." The handsome fey man said, his bright green eyes alight with amusement. Martin was equally baffled by the man and angry he was not taken as a serious threat. The man kept smiling, and gradually Martin's defenses lowered. The man had an alarmingly nice smile.

"You must be Martin," He said, gracefully jumping over the counter and walking to Martin, his hand out. "The name is Tim, Basira might've mentioned me."

Martin reluctantly shook his hand, swallowing. "I am, Martin I mean. I'm Martin. Ugh, why are you here?"

Tim threw a look over his shoulder. "Just installing the stove," He said, wiping his hands that were stained with coal on his trousers. It took a lot out of Martin not to tell him to stop ruining his clothes.

"Oh," Martin said, "Thank you."

Tim eyed him. "You look a little lost, my friend."

Martin stared blankly at the black metal appliance that now belonged in his kitchen. Which belonged to Martin. Martin was definitely a bit more than lost.

"It's a bit much." Martin decided on.

Tim laughed outright, jolting Martin. "Oh boy do I understand. You should have seen me when Basira came round, spouting about my one true love and my family- that girl really has no tact. Oh well, at least she is not as bad a Jon."

"The witch." Martin said before he could stop himself. 

"Yeah, Jon." Tim arched a brow. "I heard you met him as well. Don't let it get to you, Jon always makes a bad first impression. You'll like him once you get to know him."

"I don't think that's the problem," Martin stammered. "I don't think he likes me. At all."

Tim rolled his eyes and walked back over to the stove. "That's just Jon's aura. He acts like an ass but he does care. After all, he keeps all of us safe despite calling us useless shrooms."

"Already gossiping about Jon?" Said a cheery voice from the door. A fey woman came in, her light brown hair cascading down her back. She smiled at Martin like they'd been friends forever. "Hello Martin, the name's Sasha."

"Oh, hello," Martin said, still flabbergasted. 

Immediately Tim jumped over the counter despite just walking back over there. He put his arm round Sasha, giving her an even brighter smile. One true love, Martin recalled.  
After the two of them stared into each other's eyes they turned to Martin, a united front. Martin almost took a step back. 

"How are you liking out little village so far?" Sasha asked.

"Oh, it's great." Martin said immediately, "Well I mean I haven't exactly seen it, all of it- I mean I saw a bit yesterday when Basira brought me here but the sun had already set by then- but what I've seen so far has been good-"

Sasha groaned in annoyance. "Basira really has no tact, does she? Neither her or Daisy." She looked at Martin. "Well come along with us today, Martin. We'll give you the grand tour. Let you see if you actually want to be here," She added angrily.

She looped her arm through Martin's, as did Tim without hesitation. 

"Oh, really that's okay there is so much work to be done-" Martin complained, but it was no use. 

"Nonsense!" Tim and Sasha said, as synchronized as twins. The three of them walked out into the sunlight onto the sidewalk. Martin blinked and looked around as they walked.  
"Over there is Daisy's weaponry, which I take you've been to before." Sasha pointed at a place down the way a bit. In the window was Daisy, as she had been yesterday, inspecting a dagger. She sent the three of them a nod but made no move to join them.

"Right there my and Tim's place, we are kind of like town hall? We organize events and keep up with the townspeople." She pointed to a building with a tower and bell. She shot Tim a glare. "The bell rings everyday at Noon, thanks to me. Tim over there has lost his bell privileges forever, thanks to Jon."

"I did nothing wrong!" Tim argued.

"You rang the bell every time someone in town got laid."

"For some people it's worth celebrating!"

Sasha giggled and said to Martin, "If Tim gets five feet to even the bell room he is shot back, as though gravity is rejecting him. It's quite spectacular."

"Jon is so dramatic," Tim grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "He is just angry cause he's the only person in town I never rang the bell for."

Sasha elbowed Tim violently. "Anyway," She said as though Tim hadn't spoken. "Oh! There's Georgie's shop! Come, you have to meet her," She dragged Martin by the hand into a store that read "Georgie's Jinxes and Jewelry"

"Okay-" Martin said as he entered a store filled with black and dark shades of curtains. It was as though day had become night instantly. On the clothed tables were beads of pearls and jewels, as well as books contained drawings of skulls and spells.

"Georgie! Melanie! Come meet Martin!" Sasha called out.

From the back came two women, one who looked excited and one who looked extremely bored.

The excited one reached out to Martin instantly. "Hello! Welcome to town! I'm Georgie, and this is my ladyfriend Melanie."

Melanie rolled her eyes. "Just say girlfriend." She said, sounding fondly irritated. Martin looked at her curiously, her hair was in jagged black locks and her nose and eyebrows were pierced with what seemed to be iron. That was a pretty bold choice for a fey.

She caught Martin staring and scowled, "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," Martin scrambled. "It's nice- it's nice to meet you." He held out a hand awkwardly. Melanie stared at it for a minute before Georgie intervened, shaking his hand instead.  
"Don't mind her, she is not a people person." 

Melanie did not look repentant in the slightest.

"This is a lovely shop." Martin said politely.

"It is," Georgie agreed. "Worked hard on it. So I hear you're opening up our first cafe?"

"It-It appears so." Martin said lamely.

Georgie looked to Sasha. "Let me guess, Basira saw a vision of him cooking for us and now won't let him leave?"

"Didn't even give him a tour of the town first." Sasha said, outraged. She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Melanie isn't the only one who needs to work on her people skills."

"There's a lot of people you could add to that list," Tim joked.

"What's the point of being a secret village if we are people people?" Melanie asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm sorry- secret village?" Martin asked.

All eyes turned to him in surprise. 

"They didn't tell you, did they?" Tim asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Clearly not," Martin said annoyed. He'd spent so much time alone, and now here he was, opening a cafe and meeting people and touching them and it was getting a bit much. Especially since Martin did not understand why any of it was happening.

Melanie twirled her finger. "This whole place has wards that are meant to block out travelers. If they come, they walk right on through without realizing they are in a village at all. Yet you, Martin, walked right into Daisy's shop and spoke to her. Quite the odd occurrence."

"Oh," Martin said, his eyes widening. "Is that why Jon was so-"

"Hostile?" Sasha said.

"Suspicious?" Melanie scowled.

"Rude?" Georgie said sympathetically.

"No, no," Tim laughed. "That is just how he regularly is. But your arrival just made it a tad bit worse."

"Oh..." Martin said, not knowing how to deal with any of that. "So, this is a secret village that is meant for people not to see, but I walked into it. And Basira is a seer and saw me opening a cafe in said secret village?"

"Yup," Georgie said, looking strangely excited. "You are quite the odd case."

Martin didn't know how to feel about that either. All that echoed in his mind was Peter, peter, peter. They didn't see him cause he must still have some of Peter's mist wrapped around him. But how can he? Peter isn't near.

Is he?

Tim put his arm around Martin's shoulder. "I think we should give this guy some fresh air."

As they walked outside Martin finally found his voice. "Why is this village a secret?"

For the first time since meeting him, Tim shut off a bit. His smile didn't dim, but his eyes darkened. "Why is anything a secret?"

"To not be found out." Martin supplied. 

Tim considered that. "Well, then you have your answer."

Martin looked around the town square. At the secret village made of cobblestone, overgrown terrain, and colored glass. For a moment, Martin felt a strange sense of belonging.  
"I think I'll fit right in." Martin said quietly, echoing Basira. Tim peered at him, but did not question it.

The kitchen had been set up during the time Martin, Tim, and Sasha had been out. Martin quickly learned the townspeople helped each other out, taking on menial jobs if someone else couldn't. There were wooden chairs, picnic tables and benches all lined with white lined and baskets filled with fruit. In the store windowsills were pillows and blankets. On the shelf were copper cups, pans, and pots.

Basira stood under them, pointing and saying, "No, that has to go there."

Jon stood next to her, grumbling. He flicked his hand and a ring of small green sparks encircled a cup, lifting it through the air and placing it onto another shelf. Jon did not even have to look at Martin for Martin to know Jon knew he was there. Instantly, Jon's shoulders tensed, but he did not move otherwise.

Basira turned round and nodded to Martin. "You liked the town." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, he did." Sasha said. "No thanks to you showing him around."

Basira did not look apologetic. "I knew he would like town. After all, he will be here for a very long time."

"That's not your decision to make! Just because you see it happen doesn't mean it has to-"

"You and Tim did." Basira did, arching a brow.

Sasha scowled. "We happened because of us, not because of some fate-"

"Sasha," Tim said, placing a hand on her elbow.

Sasha shot Tim a look. Tim shrugged his shoulders. They shared a wordless exchange. Sasha sighed and deflated.

Basira looked at Martin, ignoring them. "We're just finishing up." She told him.

"Oh, that's-that's good." Martin stammered, trying very hard not to stare at Jon. Jon, who stood there in all his dark academic witch glory. Jon eyed Martin out of the corner of his eye, his hands tethered behind his back.

"It is." Basira agreed. "You can start cooking come morning."

"Cooking what exactly?" Martin asked.

Basira shrugged her shoulders. "Bread, muffins, cakes, tea, coffee. And anything else you want to add to the menus."

"Oh," Martin said, thinking of those things. It'd been so long that he forgot what he liked. Even before Martin had never had enough coins to have sweets regularly, as he took care of his mother. When he could muster up the ingredients to make something of the sort he felt truly happy, glad he could make something that smelled and tasted good. There was nothing like it in Peter's court.

Jon cleared his throat. Basira shot him a glare.

"On a trial basis, Basira failed to mention." The witch said. He finally turned to face Martin fully. Martin swallowed nervously.

"Until I- we deem you a non-threat you can cook what you like." Jon said. "If in this trail you prove you are not a fit addition for our village you will be asked to leave, with your memory wiped of course."

"My memory wiped?" Martin echoed. 

Jon said, "Couldn't have you coming back now could we?"

"You should feel lucky Martin," Tim said, his arm still round Martin's shoulders. "Usually Jon goes immediately for murder."

"I figured." Martin said quietly, thinking of yesterday.

Jon at least had the decency to look away somewhat abashed. Though, not regretful.

"I will...I will have everything ready tomorrow." Martin told Basira, trying to feel any enthusiasm. 

"I know," She said, a twinkle in her eye.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin's first day of owning his own cafe brings back some troubling memories of the Kings of the Fey.

Martin was calling the intense feeling of anxiety and panic "first day jitters".

Idly he stood behind the counter, an apron tied tightly around his waist and neck. In front of his sat ingredients of all kinds. Sugars, flours, eggs, butter, strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, vanilla, cinnamon sticks; everything that could make a delicious dessert. 

Basira had been quite thorough in supply Martin's kitchen, or rather Martin's Cafe as the wooden sign outside suggested, courtesy of Tim's handiwork.

Flames crackled from the fire place, their brightness being the only source of light. Martin had taken to drawing the curtains and locking the doors, trying to salvage all the privacy he could.

Getting back into old habits, Martin thought bitterly. He was supposed to be getting away from the lonely, yet here he sat, trying to carve a space for himself where no one could see him.

Martin stared at the fire, trying to suck in all it's warmth. There was no warmth on Peter's ship. Just salt coated winter winds that never stopped or slowed. Peter's face flashed through Martin's mind; a firm jaw, a short and classy gray beard, an ear that had been cut, an innocent smile that lured Martin in for months. 

Oh come now Martin, you know we Fey Folk cannot lie. Peter had said, smiling, his grey hair lined with silver and gold. 

But the Fey Folk could bend the truth in impossible ways. They could mend words like weapons, making them into any shape and for any purpose. 

The King of Nothing was good at that, so good he almost had Martin fooled. But there was one person better than even him.

The King of Monstera, a green eyed royal fey who could see all of Faerie. Parents told their kids of him, saying not to do anything bad, even in secret, for The King of Monstera watches everything. 

Martin had grown up on those unholy lullabies, before his mortal father left and his mother became a grief stricken immortal. Before he would stick his hand in a cookie jar or ask a mortal for their name, Martin remembered those stories and stopped himself. 

Martin never expected to meet the King of Monstera in person. 

It was on a countless day aboard Peter's ship. Martin had been sitting on a bench on the front deck as he had taken to doing most days. His poetry journal hung limp in his hands, and his quill was dried at the tip, the ink long forgotten, along with any inspiration Martin had.

Suddenly, a bright green mist overtook the ship. Martin was numb to the point he did not care about what was happening. He simply let the fog faze around him.  
It was not until a dull shadow fell across the wooden boards in front of him that Martin looked up. 

Above him stood a tall, slender Fey. His black hair was slick to the side, and he wore black silk pants and royal green velvet robes. Adorning his head was a silver ringlet made of eye-like emerald gem stones.

Martin felt his heart rate increase for the first time in a long time. He felt present in his body again, now that he was in the presence of someone else.

"Hmph," The Fey Man said, "I am surprised, and that is not usual."

"I'm sorry?" Martin said, his mouth feeling filled with cotton.

"Why you?" The Fey man said as though Martin had not spoken, tilting his head to the side. "Why does The King of Nothing favor you above all others?"

"Others? I'm sorry, what are you talking about?" Martin's cognitive functions were beginning to come back. "He- there are no others- just the two of us." Martin looked around. "He'll be back soon- I think he's below deck-"

"He's not here." The man said, bored. "And there are others. Many others." The man smirk was sinister. "Just look." He reached a pale hand, as white as snow, and touched Martin's temple.

Martin wanted to lean into the touch, wanted it to leave a bruise so he could keep the feeling. Suddenly, Martin was above the ship, above the ocean, watching for miles. He could see brown dots of ships along the dark blue of the water, each one spaced out and bordered with heavy mist. 

Martin blinked, not comprehending what he was seeing. 

"You are seeing from one of my many vantage points. Alas, you are not the only one of The King of Nothing's court. He specializes in magic that makes one feel...lonely. He feeds off it like fruit and faerie wine." The man removed his hand, folding them across his chest lazily.

Martin was back on the ship, sitting on the same bench. He swayed back, his face beginning to fill with blood. "No- no that's not right, there is no one else but-"

"There is, I just showed you. Do you doubt me, the King of Monstera? I see all." The man asked, innocently tilting his head.

Martin's focus and panic snapped back to the tall Fey in front of him. "Oh," He said. "Oh, that- I thought you were a myth."

"Take it from me, half mortal, there are no such things as myths. All those stories stem from something real. And this life you have been living, however, has not been real. You are just another piece of his court, another soul he feeds off of like a leech." The man looked so jovial sharing this news, much to Martin's horror.

"But- no Peter wouldn't-"

The King of Monstera jolted violently, staring at Martin in shock. "He- he told you his name?" The King said, his face somehow getting paler. Then his eye brows furrowed in what Martin could hardly assumed was anger? He looked closer. Jealousy?

The King of Monstera drew himself up, as though preparing to go to battle. He started toward Martin, "What makes you so special-" He growled.

"Elias." A voice rang out.

The King of Monstera whirled around, placing a hand on his chest as though he'd been struck by an arrow. "You dare say my name in front of a mortal?"

"Half mortal," Martin supplied weakly. At the end of the deck stood Peter, his long and dark cloak billowing in the wind. His white curls danced along the edges of his hat. His eyes were absolutely terrifying. For the first time since Martin had met him, Peter's eyes were not care-free or sympathetic. In that moment, he truly looked like an all powerful King of the Fey.

"Why are you here, Elias?" Peter said, his voice thunderous.

The King of Monstera- Elias apparently- drew himself back up in a languid manner, now show casing a sophisticated air. "I wanted to meet the newest member of your court." He said.

Martin peeked out carefully from behind Elias. 

"Is that true, Peter?" He asked, trying to raise his voice against the strain in his throat. With a jolt of internal panic, Martin began to think of how long he truly has not spoken. "You- you have more courtiers? You are not alone?"

Peter looked to Martin. "We are all alone Martin. I have never lied to you, after all, we Fey cannot lie."

"Stop saying that!" Martin shouted, his words squeaking at the end. When was the last time he had something to drink? "When we met you were alone! Sitting in a ruination of a kingdom! You said there were no courtiers to be found!"

Peter raised a brow. "There were no courtiers to be found there," He said. "On land."

Martin staggered back. "Then- what has all this been? Some trick to- to what? Feed off my loneliness?"

Suddenly, Peter was in front of Martin. Martin's eyes widened up at the King of Nothing.

"Oh Martin don't talk like that. I saved you, Martin. We are all alone, we all end up alone. I just saved you the heartbreak and grief you would have had to go through to realize that." He grasped Martin's hand, his touch cooler than ice. He pressed his lips against Martin's knuckles. "Alone here, or alone there, you are as you always would have been." Peter said, his eyes tracing up to Martin's.

"You're wrong," Martin tried to say, but he could not lie. Peter's eyes twinkled in knowing.

Elias appeared next to them, his hand wrapping in Peter's hair. The King of Monstera flung the King of Nothing back into the wooden floor boards. By the sound of it, Peter went through two or three stories.

Elias turned slowly and wickedly to Martin, his dark green eyes alight with Power. His crown began to float above his head, like a halo of green aura. Martin scrambled back, a feeling of primal panic dwelling in his gut. The creature in front of him was immensely stronger. Martin's sad, pathetic, and lonely life flew behind his eyelids.

"I have met some annoying people in my eternal existence," Elias said, his voice smooth and dark, "but you, Martin, are becoming close to being number two-"

Suddenly he stopped, blinking at Martin. Then he whirled around, and his face scrunched up in fury. "Peter! Where are you hiding him!" 

Martin looked down at himself, he would see himself, there and real. But Elias was searching the ship as though he could not see Martin at all. Martin realized it was Peter's mist, an effect of the King of Nothing's power.

Was Peter protecting him?

Suddenly, Peter shot up from the ruined floor boards and landed in a crouch in front of Elias. "What have you done with Martin-" Peter started, looking around before his eyes fell onto Martin himself. Surprise flew across his features, but a prideful smile lit his face. He turned to face Elias, smirking.

"You underestimate my court, my heart." Peter said.

Elias sneered. "I see everything, and there is nothing here of worth." He flung a blazing ball of green magic at Peter, who was expecting it this time. The two most powerful Kings of Faerie began to fight, causing the ship to rock violently back and forth. Martin was thrown to the side, his back hitting the railing.

Martin cried out as agony shot down his back. But despite all the pain, Martin relished in feeling. For the first time since his Mum died and meeting Peter, Martin felt alive. His senses were slowly coming back. Which meant his fight or flight instincts were kicking him. He had to get off this ship. He had to stay alive.

Martin hauled himself up the railing. He looked one last time behind him. 

Peter was radiating power, the sea and the wind responding to him. Rain began to come down in pelts, lightning flashing in the distance. Peter reached for Elias, his hands ablaze with electricity. Elias easily dodged, jumping high into the air as though he were a winged creature. His black hair was wind swept, but the rain did not dampen his locks at all. The emeralds that adorned his head were bright green with magic, a blazing halo.

Well fuck this, Martin thought and flung himself off the side of the ship.

And now, Martin owned a cafe.

Martin inwardly sighed. What was he doing? He supposes he's always been good at rolling with the punches. Martin began to mix the basic ingredients for any dessert: flour, sugar, milk, and eggs.

As Martin thought of what to make, the door flung open. "It's six am." Jon the witch said accusingly. "You open at six am."

Martin fumbled with the sugar bag he'd been holding, spilling it behind the counter. A cloud of white dust erupted. The witch stared at the mess and sighed.  
"You- you surprised me." Martin said, his cheeks aflame.

Jon stood with his black and silver locks tied messily behind his head. He wore a long brown leather jacket, black velvet trousers, and a dark green linen shirt that somewhat matched the color of his woodland eyes. You could not blame Martin for staring and absolutely embarrassing himself.

Jon rolled his eyes and sat down at one the chairs by the fireplace, plopping a heavy book onto the small side table. 

He watched Martin.

"Um," Martin said awkwardly, rubbing his sugar-coated hands on his apron. "I-um didn't know I would be opening so early."

Jon arched a brow. "You didn't? You've been standing there for two hours."

"You've been watching me?" Martin asked in shock, suddenly becoming, impossibly, more self conscious. 

Jon shrugged. "I was awake."

"You were watching me." Martin repeated. "You really don't trust me, do you?"

Jon's face contorted into anger. "You slipped right through my wards without me even noticing." He spat. "That doesn't just happen."

"I-I'm sorry." Martin said, "I didn't know what I was doing-"

"That makes it worse!" Jon sat back in a huff, crossing his arms. "It's an insult to me as a witch." He added quietly.

"I didn't mean to-" Martin started to apologize but stopped short at Jon's glare. 

Martin sighed. They sat in silence for a while, the crackling of the fire the only sound around. Martin fiddled with the straps of his apron as Jon stared unflinchingly at Martin.  
Martin forced himself to look away, his eyes landing onto his counter and the ingredients and-

"What would you like?" Martin choked out.

Jon's eyes flicked away briefly to the chalk board menu Basira had hung. For no reason apparently, because he said, "Nothing." 

"So you're just going to sit there, then?" Martin asked, starting to feel pricks of irritation. Couldn't he kick someone out for loitering? Martin, though, didn't know if he should try that with the village witch.

Jon arched a brow defiantly. He waved a finger and the book opened and settled itself on his lap. Jon did this display of magic without breaking eye contact with Martin.  
Martin turned away quickly, so his face wouldn't show how impressed he fucking was.

It went on like that for a while. Martin, trying to cook the day's entrees, which was a blueberry pie, golden leaf tea, chocolate coffee, and blueberry muffins. (He would have to extend his palette if he wanted to stay in business.)

Jon kept on watching Martin, which caused Martin to make several mistakes. Dropped a batch of berries, made the milk overflow out of the measuring cup, and had burned his first pie. Martin scrambled out the burning pie onto the counter, barley burning his hands in the process and looked up at Jon, who just looked at him as though he were stupid.  
Martin turned away, grumbling.

Finally, by the grace of Merlin, other people began to come in. 

Sasha poked her head in, smiling. "Good Morrow Martin!"

Martin smiled widely, happy at the existence of someone fucking else. "Hello Sasha, what- what would you like?"

Sasha walked up to the counter, his lengthy brown hair braided along her brow and down her back. Her pointed ears were tipped with gold hoops. "I'll have chef's choice." She winked.

"Hello Jon!" Sasha said. Jon, who was suddenly interested in reading his book, grumbled out a hello without looking up.

Sasha rolled her eyes. "Has he been like this all morning?" She asked Martin.

"Yes," Martin said. The words 'please help me' were not said aloud, but they were there. Sasha caught the meaning but only smiled bemusedly.

Martin slid over a slice of blueberry pie and a cup of tea. Sasha dropped a few silver coins into a clear jar and winked at Martin before walking over to the empty seat in front of the fire place next to Jon. 

She slapped his knee, forcing the witch to talk to her. They bent their heads together, whispering. Martin didn't know what to do with himself. He decided to clean around the kitchen, open the blinds, and inspect the coins Sasha had given him. 

As the sun became a higher figure in the sky, more townsfolk began to come in. Martin sighed in relief, and began to make another pie and re-fill the kettle.

Martin let the sound of idle chatter and laughter slow around him. When Martin closed his eyes he was back on Peter's ship, surrounded by cold mist, but the warmth of his actual surroundings pushed those memories aside.

Daisy and Basira came in, though they didn't talk much. Basira didn't even look at the menu to tell Martin what she wanted, she also gave him her order for tomorrow, so he'd have it ready. Daisy walked over to Jon, taking the chair Sasha had vacated earlier.

For Daisy, Jon looked up and made eye contact with the blonde Fey woman. They seemed to share a nod before Daisy sat down and pulled out a book of her own. To Martin's absolute surprise, it was a romance. Martin tried not to stare.

"They are good friends." Tim said, startling Martin. Martin spilled some of the kettle onto his hand, hissing. He sat it down hurriedly. 

"Ow, shit, what would you like?" Martin asked, trying to calm his heart rate.

Tim leaned an elbow against the counter and smiled at Martin, his teeth stained with blueberry. "You've been staring for a while, mate."

"Have I?" Martin asked, his face flushing. 

Tim chuckled. He turned to look at Jon and Daisy. "They are both hardasses, but they have hearts of gold, I assure you."

Martin poured a cup of tea for Tim, frowning. "Jon still hates me though."

"He doesn't hate you; he just doesn't trust you. There's a difference, so stop pouting."

Martin scowled. "I am not pouting."

"Just," Tim started, becoming serious. "don't take it personally. Jon...we all have been through a lot. His paranoia of newcomers doesn't stem from nothing."

Martin flicked his eyes up to Tim. "Will you ever stop beating around the bush and tell me why this village is secret?"

"Will you ever tell us how you got through the wards? Or where you came from?" Tim retorted. Martin looked away, ashamed.

Tim sighed, running a hand through his black hair. "We used to be part of a wicked court." He said simply. "And we aren't anymore. That's all there is to it."

Martin knew that wasn't all there was to it, but he didn't push. As much as he wanted to know the truth about this place, he was nowhere near ready to reveal his own truth.  
"I don't...I don't blame Jon for being suspicious." Martin said, casting a look to the witch. "I just...wish he didn't blatantly...do whatever that is."

Tim laughed, causing Jon to look up from his book to the two of them. His dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Martin immediately looked away, but Tim smiled at the village witch coyly and waved. 

"Stop it." Martin whispered. "He'll think we're talking about him."

"But we are." Tim cackled. 

Martin walked away, to deal with customers who don't find him amusing. 

The sun began to set, casting orange and red hues into the cafe. Most of the customers had gone now, and it left Martin and Jon alone, once again.

Martin took off his apron, and for the first time in hours, looked at Jon. Jon was still as he had been, sitting in that chair, his legs crossed, eyes scanning the book on his lap. He hadn't eaten or drank anything, Martin noticed.

Suddenly, Martin's hands moved on their own and he tied the apron back on. He warmed up the kettle once again and slid out a pie he was saving for tomorrow, green apple pie.  
Martin took a deep breath and walked over to the witch, a plate of pie and tea in his hands. 

"Here you go." Martin said, trying to sound cheery. 

Jon looked up, frowning. "I didn't order this."

"I know," Martin said. "But you-you've been sitting here for hours. You should eat something."

Jon glared at Martin, eyeing the tea and pie like they were poison. 

"If I was poisoning people you would have noticed already." Martin said, trying not to feel awkward and offended. 

The corner of Jon's mouth dipped angrily, but he relented and took the plate. "It would take a lot more than poison to kill me." He mumbled.

Martin didn't doubt that. Jon's skin was littered with scars of all kinds. So many that surely a mortal would be dead by now. He remembered what Tim had said; wicked court. Martin felt a rush of anger for whatever had hurt Jon, but didn't say a word. He felt a rush of anger for himself too, because he knew wicked courts.

Martin sat down in the velvet chair next to Jon. It felt nice, after being on his feet all day. He sighed, shutting his eyes momentarily. Peter's ship flashed in his mind and he opened his eyes, staring into the fire. When would the mist wear off? Something told Martin his problem was rooted deeper than that, and that the mist had already left him, but Martin ignored that part of his mind.

Martin could feel himself being watched. He turned to see Jon staring at him, chewing on a piece of pie. Jon's profile was beautiful when lit up with firelight, Martin noted. His skin was dark gold in the flame flare, the silver strands of his momentarily sunlight-like. 

For the first time in a long time, Martin was inspired to write poetry.

Jon swallowed, and said: "Why are you here, Martin?"

Martin blinked, words like ambrosial and holy winking from his mind. "What?"

Jon set the now empty plate onto the table. "Why are you here? In this village?"

"I don't know."

"No, you do. You don't know how you got here, but you know why you're here. Why you want to stay."

Martin looked back to the fire. "Not to be found?" He said, thinking of his conversation with Tim yesterday.

"Who are you running from?" Jon asked, eagerly.

"Who are you running from?" Martin shot back.

Jon scowled and leaned back, but he did not say another word for a while. 

"I'm under the impression everyone here has secrets, so why are you scrutinizing me?" Martin asked, as he couldn't hold the words back.

"Our secrets stem from the same source." Jon said, purposely vague.

"The Wicked Court?" Martin asked.

Jon jolted in surprised, and then frowned. "What has Tim told you?" He snarled.

"Just that you all used to be part of a bad court, but you aren't anymore. That's all there is to it." Martin said, holding up his hands.

Jon scowled and turned toward the fire. "Tim talks too much."

Martin fiddled with his fingers, before boldly saying, "I was part of a bad court, before." He said, immediately wondering if he had made a mistake.

Jon's eyes went to him. He studied Martin again. 

"Let's hope ours are not the same." Jon said at last.

"It wouldn't be." Martin laughed humorlessly. "You wouldn't have each other if it were." He said, remembering how he thought himself to be alone. Well, to be part of a court with only one other person.

Jon's eyebrows drew together in confusion, but before he could ask he yawned. Like a cat.

He yawned like a cat, Martin almost died of the witch's cuteness. Martin wanted to pinch his cheeks, which was a weird thought for him to have he realized, since Jon has tried to kill him in the last twenty four hours.

Jon scowled into nothing, as though angry with himself.

"Thats what you get for not sleeping and stalking your neighbors." Martin joked.

Jon's scowled turned to Martin. "I do not stalk."

Martin raised a brow. "Oh so this morning was what-"

Jon stood up suddenly, sliding his book off the table and under his arm. He glared at Martin. "See you tomorrow." He said, sounding very unhappy about it.

Martin had a ridiculous urge to smile at him. "Goodnight Jon."

Jon's scowl deepened but he left, slamming the door on his way out. The lock locked itself after the exit, in a swirl of green sparks. Martin raised a brow and sighed.

But some part of him rejoiced in tomorrow. What he would make, who he would meet, and if a certain witch would come back again.


	3. Chapter Three

Martin had learned a few things his few weeks as a resident of the Secret Village. He'd scribbled them down on old parchment, stained with flour and egg batter.  
1\. Sasha likes honey in her tea.

2\. Daisy likes sourdough bread for breakfast, and cherry muffins for an afternoon snack. Her routine was militant.

3\. Basira liked her coffee very bitter. Very bitter, Martin, stop adding sugar.

4\. Tim must not be allowed back in.

5\. Georgie prefers her apples to be green instead of red.

6\. Melanie prefers bittersweet chocolate chips than milk chocolate.

5\. Jon....

Jon was the hardest to read. Despite their conversation the first night, Martin has had yet to peek into Jon's walls. He did, however, notice above all else:  
6\. They loved each other.

There were few people in the village, but this core group were center of the community. They were a united force, protecting everyone else. Almost everyday, the seven of them gravitated toward each other. They laughed, and sometimes they just sat together in comfortable silence.

Martin watched them with somewhat envy. He'd always wanted friends, but he never dared hope for any. In hoping, he'd have to admit he was actually lonely, which was not something he wanted to do. It wasn't until being part of the Lonely Court that Martin realized how truly alone he was. Had always been.

But Martin didn't dare ask from them for any kind of friendship. It was a miracle they were allowing him there at all, giving him a home and workplace. Even if for the rest of his life he only had Jon sitting in his cafe, not talking to him at all, he would be happy. It was the kind of happy you got from being close to a bonfire or standing on the sand on a beach, staring out at the ocean.

Martin was content with this, niceties with the people of the village and Jon's presence. But it all changed when Tim said: "You should come tonight."

"Come where?" Martin asked, not really paying attention. He was staring at two glass jars, both filled with white powder. Which one was sugar, and which one was flour? Why hadn't he labeled them? Stupid Martin.

"To Jon's."

Martin fumbled with both containers. "Jon's?" 

Martin had been to most places in town, but he never stepped foot there. 

While Jon came to Martin's Cafe regularly, Martin knew he did not come because he wanted too. The back of Martin's head had indentions from Jon's suspicious stares.

"Oh, don't look so panicked, I was joking. It's my place." Tim said, slapping Martin on the back. Much to Martin's dismay, Tim was behind the counter again. "And besides, it's just drinking."

"Drinking?"

"Yeah. It's the one night every month we can convince Jon to allow us to drink Faerie Wine."

Martin scowled. Faerie Wine was a dangerous thing. Sweet as honey, as rich as ichor, and as golden as bare sunlight. Almost every court has the liquid at revels, making their guests honest and happy and very, very drunk.

Martin had only had Faerie Wine twice. The first time was before his mother had become sad to the point of sickness, where Martin had followed a very handsome man to the revel. Only to wake up in the morning in a thorn bush, the echo of laughter in his ears.

The second time had been with Peter. While Martin remembered that encounter, he did not like to think about it. (That was the night Martin had truly began to feel something for Peter. It wasn't romantic love. But it was the sort of love of being understood for the first time by some else.)

"I promise it will be fun," Tim said. "And you don't have to drink more than you want too."

Martin still frowned.

Tim gestured toward Jon. "Come on, even he wants you to come."

Jon was sitting in his usual spot, a book perched open on his lap. Though he had relaxed his position over the last few days, now letting himself rest his feet on another chair.  
"He-he does?" Martin stammered.

Tim stared at Martin for a moment, before his eyes twinkled. "He did not say so specifically-"

Martin's hopeful face shut like a door.

"But he does want to know you better!"

"He wants to know whether I'm a danger or not." Martin grumbled.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Well watching you from afar obviously isn't helping, so coming tonight and talking to him might lessen his suspicions."

Tim had a point, Martin conceded. Biting his lip, Martin nervously watched Jon. "Are you sure that's alright? What does Sasha or Georgie feel about me intruding-"

Tim waved a hand, a flash of silver since he wore many, shiny rings. "No one thinks you're intruding! This is a group extended invitation. I wouldn't have said anything if not everyone wanted you there. So stop thinking of excuses! I'll be back after closing to get you."

"You don't have to do that, I know where you live-"

"No, I'll pick you up personally. I have a feeling if I don't, you'll not come." Tim said. Martin didn't like much Tim seemed to understand him already. But another part of Martin delighted in it.

"Fine." Martin grumbled. Then added, "Thank you for inviting me Tim. It means a lot."

Tim smiled brightly. "Of course! You're one of us now, you sorry bastard."

Martin's smile in reply was involuntary, but he could not stop it.

At seven, Martin turned off the ovens and packed away remains of his cooking. He slid off his apron and looked out the windows. Orange and red streaked the sky, golden clouds resting among the setting sun. 

The autumn glow reverberated inside, staining everything is fall colors. Jon slammed his book shut, on time as usual, but did not stand up. He simply stared at Martin, frowning  
.  
"What is it?" Martin asked, hands in his pockets. He tried not to look at Jon, who was lit by the reigning sunlight. His hair just looked so silky! You couldn't blame Martin for wanted to run his hands through it everyday. 

"You...you usually come over with a plate at this time." Jon said, a bit awkwardly.

"Oh," Martin realized, flushing. "I just thought we were going to eat at Tim's."

Jon's eyes widened, and he sat up. "You're going to Tim's tonight?"

"Yeah," Martin answered, a bit startled at Jon's reaction. "He invited me, I thought-"

"Martin!" Tim said slamming the door open. His jaw-length black hair was braided across his forehead. "Ready to get drunk as Merlin himself?"

Martin whirled and glared at Tim. "I thought you said everyone wanted me there," He said, gesturing at Jon.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Jon is not part of our council on social occasions such as tonight."

"I find that offensive-" Jon started, standing up.

Tim ignored him. "Don't worry about Jon." He told Martin. "Come along, if we're late Sasha will finish both bottles herself."

Martin was unsure now, his arms crossed on his chest. He glanced worriedly at Jon, who was scowling at Tim. 

After a moment Jon sighed and said to Martin, "You might as well come." His scowl deepened. 

Tim smiled brightly, throwing an arm around Martin's shoulders. "See? Told you he wanted to get to know you!"

Jon walked straight out the door. Martin sighed.

Tim and Sasha's home was a very bright place, covered in flowers, all kinds of trinkets, and quilts. Along the walls were many paintings of the two of them, none of them serious, each of them smiling. One of the portraits was of Tim, shirtless, using a bow and arrow. Next to him was Sasha, a sleek painted silver dagger in her hand. Behind them was a mirage of green eyes.

Martin stared at this particular painting, where they were neither frowning nor smiling. It reminded him of the Wild Hunt, warriors of the Fey.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Georgie said, coming up to Martin. In her arms was a massive cat. The cat judged Martin.

"Oh, yes it is." Martin agreed, holding a glass of faerie wine he had yet to take a sip of. "I just am wondering about the inspiration."

Georgie eyed Martin as she replied, "All of these are snapshots of their life together."

Martin's eyebrows rose. "So they've actually done these things?" Gesturing to the one of Tim and Sasha riding and falling from a flying horse.

Georgie laughed. "After we...left our court, Tim and Sasha thought it best to live life to the fullest." She said, looking around the living room.

"And damn us if we haven't!" Tim yelled, swinging onto the couch with a long, green bottle in his hand. The rest of the group was around a small circular wooden table, each on a love seat or chair or on the floor itself. 

Sasha giggled, leaning drunkenly into Tim, who gladly wrapped an arm around her.

For the second time that day, Martin felt envy. This wooden cottage was filled with miscellaneous items, not color themed, or any sense of categoration, but it was filled with love and familiarity. Martin had never truly had a home before. Sure, a house, but never a home filled with shared, loving memories.

Tim and Sasha were truly two halves, never one without the other.

Martin's eyes darted to Jon, who was perched on a green love seat. He was holding a mug of something that was not faerie wine. Martin noticed he wasn't scowling, but he looked annoyed somewhat. As Martin thought this, the edge of Jon's lips twitched at whatever Melanie said in something short of a smile. Martin watched mesmerized as the mask of annoyance quickly fell back into place, fast as lightning. 

It was as though Martin had stumbled upon a new magical creature. Something rare and not something he knew was possible to exist.

"Martin!" Tim said, "We," he gestured to himself and Sasha, "have some stories to tell you!"

Tim spared at glance at everyone else. "Right guys?"

Basira shrugged, "I have a few." She shared a look with Daisy. "We have a few, I mean."

Sasha scowled at Basira, but in her intoxicated state, her face just screwed up like an impression of a pug. "Only stories from the past!"

Basira rolled her eyes. "Fine."

"I have a few about this guy," Georgie cackled, coming and sitting on one of the arm rests of Jon's chair. Jon shot her a poisonous look, but Martin saw fondness there.  
An unreasonable jolt of panic shot down Martin's spine. Were they-

"Babe, don't embarrass him in front of the newbie. Really, I mean it. If we break his almighty-powerful-ruthless wizard persona and Martin is no longer afraid of him, he'll get angry." Melanie said, where she sat crossed legged on the floor, her elbow resting on the surface of the table.

Oh, Martin thought relieved. He scowled inwardly, why was he relieved?

"I have no persona." Jon said darkly, crossing arms, glaring at Martin. Martin felt a cold sweat, but everyone else laughed.

"I'll start," Tim said, stifling a burp.

Soon enough, Tim began a tale about him and Sasha running from ethereal silver worms.

Worms.

"We were running through a rapidly dark forest, with these demonic arm-less heathens burrowing out of the trees and the grass and the moss. And my bow and arrow did nothing really, but I had a flaming log swinging around. I mean- I know forest fires are bad and what not- but these worms were everywhere. Everywhere. And Sasha, her blade slashing at the worms- we had to use the blade to dig out the worms from our flesh- our flesh Martin, look-" He pushed his arm toward Martin, rolling up his sleeves, showing his picket pocketed skin.

Martin realized he'd seen those before, shooting a look at Jon, who was staring at the wall. Marin saw the pale circular scars dotting his jaw and cheek.

Tim rolled his eyes. "And Jon was there too, but completely useless." He looked back to Martin, "It was before he became a wizard who sees everything, so mainly he just sat and screamed and let the worms make him- well worm food."

Jon snapped his head to Tim. "I- I did not just sit there," He spat.

"Yeah," Sasha defended. "Yeah he ran too. Slowly, but he ran." 

Jon's scowl deepened.

For a moment Martin was worried Jon would actually leave, so he intervened and said: "That sounds terrible. I couldn't imagine."

Jon's gaze snapped to Martin, pursing his lips. After a moment Jon's face softened slightly and looked at the wall. "It was." He said quietly.

A silence overtook the room before Basira started telling her story, without prompt.

Basira told a tale of her and Daisy being Knights. She said some of the pretty grotesque stuff they did, making Martin frown in disgust. But what their biggest accomplishment was taking down a group of Fey who were torturing Mortals and other Fey alike. 

"They wanted to become High Kings," Basira said, as though talking about the weather. "So they used the blood and skin of everyone they could find." Her eyes shot to Tim, who looked like he'd sobered up a lot in the span of a few minutes. "They hurt a lot of innocent people."

"But we blew up their little pseudo court. Almost lost Jon and Tim there." She said gesturing to them.

Tim gave Martin a humorless lopsided grin. "At the time, I didn't care if I survived it. I started to fire and I wanted it to consume me- maybe it'd finally be something stronger than my rage. But..."

Sasha slid her hand into his. His grin slowly became fond. "But I realized there was more I wanted to experience. I busted my ass to get out of there." He turned to Jon. "And Jon basically got lucky."

Jon rolled his eyes. "I died Tim."

"Yeah, but you came back. How is that not lucky?"

"You died?" Martin asked before he could stop himself.

Jon eyed Martin. "Yes." He said, not revealing anything.

So Tim did instead. "Jon's all-seeing witchy powers finally started to come in. Of course, we didn't know that at the time, so you could imagine how freaked out we were when he crawled out of his grave six months later."

Martin gaped, not knowing how to process any of that. 

"Freaked out is a nice way to put it," Jon said, resigned to have this conversation. "You all treated me like a soulless zombie for months."

"You are a zombie." Melanie said, topping off another glass of faerie wine.

Jon scowled again.

Tim swirled to Martin, a smile on his face. "Your turn."

Martin almost dropped his glass. "What?"

Tim arched a brow. "You didn't think we'd tell you our stories without wanting to hear one in return?"

"I, I don't really have any stories." Martin argued.

Everyone raised a brow. 

Martin had to remember social cues. Slowly, he said, "Um, okay, sure. Just, ah, let me think of one?"

Then something hit him. "You only invited me here to get me drunk and tell you all of my secrets, didn't you?"

Tim didn't look guilty. "We've been telling you ours."

"Not really. I'm still lost on how any of those events even happened."

"I told you, we were part of a wicked court." He narrowed his eyes at Martin. "Have you figured out which on it is yet?"

"Figure out which one it is yet?" Martin echoed.

"Yeah, we've been giving you so many clues. Jon over there says we can't tell you, but we can't do anything if you figure it out yourself."  
"I don't like that."

Tim just smiled.

Martin sighed.

"And it can't be a happy one." Sasha said. "Has to be dark and sad and almost fatal."

Martin gulped.

The fight between Peter and Elias, the two High Kings of the Fey. But that was a bit much wasn't it? Martin thought about it for a few minutes.

A years worth of memories of his time with Peter flashed through his mind. Them walking through the forest, through ruined courts, over snow caps, and adrift on a starless sea.  
"A while ago," Martin started.

"How long ago?" Basira asked intently. They were all staring at him quite intensely, though at least Tim, Sasha, and Georgie tried to be subtle about it.

"I don't know." Martin said, honestly, because that was what they wanted, wasn't it? "Time has become a bit of a...sore spot for me. I don't really know hold old I am. Probably 29?" He chuckled, but no one else laughed.

Martin cleared his throat. "Anywho, a while ago I was traveling with a companion of mine, we came across a Fey who could change their face. So I believe we were in the East Forest? We were camping in the left overs of some revel. We were sitting in silence, and everything was normal, when I realized my companion was being a bit more chatty than usual...When I started pointing out the oddities in his behaviors the...the thing snapped. Turns out, it was a magical shifter that had been impersonating my companion for a while."

"What happened?" Georgie asked, eyes wide and interested.

"Well, it tried to kill me. I managed to fight it off-" which meant Martin had just tripped over a log and rolled away a few feet "-until Pe- My companion came back. Turns out he'd been following us, waiting to see how long it would take for me to realize. Quite the jokster."

"That's not funny," Melanie said, scowling.

"What happened to the shifter?" Jon asked, frowning. "Those creatures are incredibly rare, and hard to kill."

Martin raised his eyebrows. It didn't seem hard for Peter to snap his fingers and the creature to burst into wind and sand.

"Um, well my companion dealt with it."

Jon said incredously, "So your friend just conveniently had a blade with the blood of a unicorn on it?"

Martin frowned, "No,"

Jon blinked at Martin, angrily. "Then how did he kill it?"

"My companion...was more powerful than normal Fey. He doesn't exactly follow the same rules as the rest of us." Martin tried to explain. 

Jon tilted his head to the side, frowning. "He was a high fey wasn't he?"

"Was yours?" Martin asked back.

They stared at each other for a moment before Tim groaned and yelled, "Yes! He was a high fey! I dare say we all are talking about High fey." He rolled his eyes before looking to Martin, for the first time looking a smidge distrustful. "Why were you traveling alone with a High fey?"

Martin laughed suddenly, a burst of humorless comedy. "I wouldn't say Peter and I were alone, perse." He said, thinking of the deception of everything, all the ships of the sea beyond the barriers of fog.

Everyone's eye brows rose, their glasses becoming forgotten in their hands.

"Peter?" Basira asked, incredulously.

Martin felt a spark of fear. "Do you know him?"

"No," Tim said, sitting up and leaning forward, his eyebrows drawn together. "Martin, he told you his name?"

Martin knew what they all were thinking. What High Fey gave up their name willingly?

"Um, yeah." Martin answered awkwardly. It was actually one of the first things the King of Nothing had told him. And he'd said it without a care in world, as if he weren't even scared Martin would use it against him.

Peter really hadn't thought anything of him, had he? 

The group shared a look for a long moment. 

"So, Martin," Tim said slowly. "How long exactly were you sleeping with a High Fey?"

"Tim!" Sasha said, swatting him. "That's not what your supposed to ask!"

Tim rubbed his arm and defended, "That was what we had to ask him, I just put it in simpler terms!"

"Answer the question, Martin." Basira said, ignoring Tim and Sasha.

"No! No, no, you've got it wrong." Martin said hastily, his face heating beyond belief. "Peter- Peter and I were not like that. At all." He forced his eyes not to look at Jon as he said this.

"So a High Fey just gives you their name, what, out of the kindness of their heart?" Jon asked.

"Obviously not, I now know it was probably a way to manipulate me, thank you very much." Martin snapped. 

The group became silent, registering this information. Jon pursed his lips, his eyes scanning the floor. He was trying to figure it out, Martin realized, who Martin was talking about.  
Martin looked down at his glass, seeking his reflection in the golden faerie wine. Why had he come here tonight? Why was he even in this village at all?

Even though Martin was in a room filled with people, he felt the mist of loneliness creep around him. A small, terrible, part of him wanted to let it consume him. 

"Well," Tim announced after a while, raising his glass, "to manipulative High Fey sons of bitches, who's horrific acts managed to get us all to meet."

"Here, here." Everyone said, humorlessly, clinking their glasses together.

After a while they began to talk about miscellaneous things, the cloud of nostalgia going over to reveal present shenanagins. 

Martin found himself sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. The wine was starting to affect him, his vision somewhat hazy and shiny.

Someone suddenly slid down the wall next to him.

"Whaddya want Tim?" Martin asked.

"Not Tim." Jon said, his eyes resolutely in front of him.

Martins swallowed and tried to regain his sober composure. "I didn't actually sleep with a High Fey," He said for no fucking reason besides the fact he was the world's biggest idiot.

Jon's eyebrows rose.

"I-I didn't mean to say that- I just don't want you thinking..." Martin's faced flushed with something other than alcohol. He quickly shut up.

Jon bit his lip and looked in front of him again. "Tim used to...Tim used to make the same joke about me and our previous- well you know."

It was turn for Martin's eyebrows to rise. "Um, were you-"

"No," Jon snapped. He looked at Martin in a betrayed kind of way, which Martin assumed was fair. "No, my- our previous high lord was well..."

"Obsessed," Tim yelled from across the room. "He was obsessed with you."

Jon scowled.

"Why?" Martin asked.

"His good looks," Melanie giggled, topping herself off again.

Jon's scowl deepened. "No, he just..." His face softened, not with warmth but with weariness. "He saw some of himself in me." He stared down at his near skeletal hands, the small pale holes on his wrist. 

Realization came over Martin. "He made you his ward, shared his high fey powers with you."

Jon nodded. His eyes slid over to Martin's. "I assume the same happened with you, Mr.Breaking-through-my-wards-on-accident."

Sasha laughed. "Someone's inner sass is coming out. Beware Jon, you might ruin your reputation as an emotionless laughless badass."

Jon ignored her, looking at Martin.

"Oh," Martin said. "I-Um, maybe?" He considered it. The King of Monstera- Elias- had not been able to see him. He was invisible, and that was Peter's thing. Had Peter been making Martin his ward? What about all those other people?

No, Martin told himself, it was just the mist. You're not invisible anymore.

It was after a few minutes of debating this mentally that Martin realized Jon was still watching him, expecting more of an answer. 

Martin stumbled on what to say as he looked at the High Fey Witch. His black and silver stranded hair was pulled up messily, but each lock fell with silk like softness and aesthetic. His pointed ears bore no earrings like many of his friends' did. Tonight he wore a dark green yarn sweater that came to rest near the middle of his thighs, one that Martin probably could not even fit into. Over the sweater he wore a long brown trench coat, with books poking out from the pockets. His black pants were stained with potions, and his leather boots were scuffed up from apparent numerous times of running for his life.

Martin was not taking any of this well. 

"Um," Martin said, wondering how he had gotten into this situation. He was sitting next to a High Fey Witch, who was beauty and power itself and who hated him. This was the kind of thing Martin read love stories about, or fantasized about when admiring dark, soul tortured Unseelie Knights. "I don't think Peter made me his ward. But I guess we'll never know until I dig myself out of my grave." He chuckled awkwardly, and the minute the words left his mouth Martin cringed.

Jon's mouth thinned.

Fuck, Jon had come over here to sit down and actually be nice for once and Martin had to go an mock his death. Martin wanted the lonely court to swallow him whole-

Miraculously, Jon's lip twitched. "I suppose we shall see," He said, a sliver of humor there in his voice.

A burst of relief so powerful nearly knocked all the breathe out of Martin's body. Then, "Wait was that a threat?"

Jon shrugged and stood up, looking absolutely pleased with himself. 

Martin stared for a second, not comphrending, was Jon teasing him? Every universal fact collided is his head. Was that possible?

Jon looked over his shoulder once, giving Martin a shy unpracticed smug smirk. Then his hip hit the edge of the arm chair, causing him to almost lose balance and spill his drink of cider. He cursed, the pointed edges of his ears going red. 

I'm imagining things, Martin told himself, somewhat dazed. Its the faerie wine messing with Martin's romanticism.

The next morning was hell.

Martin's temples pulsed, and the warm light of his shop he'd come to love had quickly become a hindrance. He threw quilts over the windows, seeing as there were no curtains.  
The jingle of the door opening sounded like as loud as a revel trumpet. 

"G'morning." Martin mumbled, willing himself to pick his face up from the counter.

Someone chuckled, "Your words don't match your tone."

Martin blinked blearily at Jon, who looked impeccable as always. 

"I'm never speaking to Tim again." Martin said. "He's banned from the shop. Please, make some wards so he can't get in."

Jon's mouth twitched, but he didn't agree, nor did he disagree. He quietly sat himself down at his usual chair, a new book open on his lap.

They sat in silence for a while until Martin realized he should at least make Jon some coffee, and maybe have a little bit for himself to help with the hang over. It was for Jon, not for him. For Jon.

Martin quickly started to break up bits of coffee bar to warm up when he moved to fast reaching for a copper pot, managing to knock down the entire rack. A cascading fall of copper came raining upon Martin, but once he closed his eyes and braced himself he felt nothing.

Huh?

Opening his eyes, Martin saw all the pots and pans distilled midair in green sparks. One by one they levitated back onto the shelf.  
Martin looked to Jon, who had not even looked up from his book, just moved his hand.

"How did you-"

"I see everything." Jon said, his tone sarcastic.

Martin looked at the green magic filing away his cooking materials, and back to Jon, who was not even watching.

Oh, Martin realized.

"I know now," He said aloud, before he could process his words.

Jon looked at him, his eyebrow arched.

"You are- you were from the King of Monstera's court, weren't you?" Martin asked.

He'd seen this magic before. This was Elias- The King of Monstera's magic. The High King who watches the world. Magic had felt this magic when the King of Monstera had tried to kill him off Peter's ship. How had he not noticed before? Martin was truly the biggest idiot.

Jon's face slacked in surprise.

Suddenly, Martin was pinned to the kitchen wall, green tendrils of magic on his shoulders and waist.

"Jon!" He said incredulously, "What are you-"

"How did you know?" Jon asked, standing before Martin, all the ruthless, powerful wizard he'd been up until last night. Any hope that Martin had actually made friends with him died instantly.

"Just- you're magic and the all seeing thing- it wasn't that hard to put together! Why are you so- Tim said I could figure it out! I was supposed too!" Martin defended, thrashing against the bonds.

Jon scowled. "If you think you can use your new found knowledge against us-"

"How!" Martin shouted, "How would I use it against you?"

"You could go running back to High Fey Lord of yours and tell him of us-"

Martin couldn't comperhend that statement alone. "I have the same amount of chance of going back to Peter that you do of-" Martin almost said his name. "Of- yours!"  
The door opened, Tim and Sasha walking in arm and arm and not seemingly hung over at all, something they no doubt were going to lord over Martin with. Their smiles instantly dropped. 

"Jon!" They shouted in unison.

"What are you doing! Put him down!" Sasha said, standing in front of Martin.

"He knows," Jon said, not taking his eyes off Martin.

"Knows what?" Sasha said, angrily.

"About our High Lord! He figured it out!" 

"Oh," Tim smiled at Martin. "I knew you were smart enough."

Martin did not feel like smiling back.

"Tim," Jon said scathingly, "now he knows everything about us, and we know nothing of him. We're at a disadvantage. Unless..." Jon said, his eye brows furrowing in thought.

"No," Tim snapped. "You're not forcing him."

Jon closed his mouth, somewhat looking remorseful. And sad. "What are we supposed to do?"

Tim took a deep breathe. "Boss, I think we're going to have to, and bear with me, trust him."

Jon scowled. 

Tim put his hands up. "Or figure out his previous court on our own, like he did with ours."

Jon scowled deepend. His eyes snapped back to Martin, digging into his soul.

Suddenly Martin was on the floor again. Martin stumbled, watching as Jon gathered his things and left as fast as lightning, slamming the door on his way out.

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry about him." He said, giving Martin an empathetic look. "I thought he was..."

Sasha rubbed Martin's shoulder, staring at the door. 

"He really does not like not knowing things."

Martin was too stunned to respond.


End file.
